Every generation has an iconic childhood movie, the one that encapsulates the sense of naïve freedom and unabashed innocence only experienced while running around with friends on a hot summer day.

We’re talking live-action movies. Animation is a whole other ball game.

The 1970s began whimsically with “Willy Wonka & the Chocolate Factory.” The 80s amped up nostalgia and adventure with “The Goonies” and “Stand By Me.” Yet during the 90s, it all culminated in our generation’s ode to baseball, camaraderie and summer mischief —“The Sandlot.”

“The Sandlot” celebrated its 20^th anniversary this past Sunday, and two decades later, it’s still brimming with a deliberately nostalgic aura of youthful wonder. Every scene is memorable, every character iconic, each line of dialogue utterly classic.

From late afternoon games in the fading light and zany ball retrieval schemes to Benny “pickling The Beast” and “You’re killing me, Smalls,” “The Sandlot” has only gotten better with age.

For those with severely deprived childhoods, “The Sandlot” follows the bat-and-gloved adventures of nine small-town California kids during the summer of 1962 — but really, it’s whatever summer you want it to be.

Benny Rodriguez (Mike Vitar), the neighborhood’s best young player, takes awkward, geeky new kid Scotty Smalls (Tom Guiry) under his wing. They waste days away playing ball in an abandoned sandlot with guys like “Ham” (Patrick Renna), “Squints” (Chauncey Leopardi), “Yeah-Yeah” (Marty York) and phrase-repeating brothers Timmy (Victor DiMattia) and Tommy (Shane Obedzinski) Timmons.

One day, after Benny literally “busts the guts” out of a ball, an oblivious Smalls steals his stepdad’s (Denis Leary) signed Babe Ruth ball, then proceeds to blast it over the fence into the den of a monstrous hound known as “The Beast.” An epic series of clever schemes to retrieve the ball ensues, culminating in an absurd chase sequence.

“The Sandlot” has someone for everyone to identify with. I was Smalls. I was the kid banished to left-center who fell on his ass running for a fly and got walloped in the face with a line drive. But whether it’s playing ball under July 4 fireworks, eating s’mores and telling scary stories in a tree house or barfing on a carnival ride, every scene evokes fond childhood memories.

It doesn’t underestimate the power of lore, playing up the majesty of “The Great Bambino,” Babe Ruth and reveling in the exaggerated urban legend of The Beast —watching it chew up Smalls’ erector set and spout it back in a mangled heap.

There are so many unforgettable quotes, chief among them the second greatest insult exchange in the history of film — next to Sir Galahad and the French soldier in “Monty Python and the Holy Grail” — between Ham and Phillips, a smirking travel-team player, reprinted here in its full glory:

Ham Porter: “Watch it, jerk!”

Phillips: “Shut up, idiot!”

Ham: “Moron!”

Phillips: “Scab-eater!”

Ham: “Butt-sniffer!”

Phillips: “Pus-licker!”

Ham: “Fart-smeller!”

Phillips: “You eat dog crap for breakfast, geek!”

Ham: “You mix your Wheaties with your mama’s toe jam!”

Phillips: “You bob for apples in the toilet … and you like it!”

Ham: “You play ball like a giiirrrrrrrrl!” [Gasps.]

Perfection.

The film relies on overly sappy narration, but adult Smalls’ old-fashioned voiceover puts all other films to shame, setting an unreachable bar for sentimental storytelling.

As the gang sprints from the pool after Squints’ ingenious drowning ploy to kiss lifeguard Wendy Peffercorn, adult Smalls proclaims:

“Michael ‘Squints’ Palledorous walked a little taller that day. We had to tip our hats to him. What he’d done was sneaky and rotten and low, and cool. He had kissed a woman, and he had kissed her long and good.”

The exposition’s simple brilliance has never been equaled.

But the child actors are the film’s heart, giving a master class in exaggerated facial expressions and body language. Each kid’s idiosyncrasies are absolutely priceless: sarcastic eye-rolls, spitting in the dirt when Benny introduces them, standing all in a row, wide-eyed and mouths agape. Ham and Squints could’ve had careers solely on Jim Halpert-style reaction shots.

In today’s era of edgy originality, “The Sandlot” instead prizes its coming-of-age clichés, vintage humor and unconditional love for baseball. Its joyful nostalgia will live on, as Squints would say, FOR-E-VER.

Published on April 11, 2013 at 12:12 am

Contact Rob: rjmarvin@syr.edu